The Professor
by DragonGrin - former TeenTypist
Summary: Draco was glad the corridors were empty, that no one was there to see him take possession of his new office, watching history repeat itself. EWE. Post-war. Glimpses into Professor Malfoy's life.
1. History

**Author's Note: **This idea came to me as a 25 word micro fiction, but once I had the idea, I had to write a bit more. I'm not sure if this is going to be a one-shot or if I might post a few more chapters. I had never thought of Draco as professor until I read a short story the other week where he was one, and while the story was cute, it just didn't quite feel right in the way Draco was a professor. This...this feels right to me. There may be more, but right now, I'm pretty focused on my Dramione story Law and Marriage.

Draco was glad the corridors were empty, that no one was there to see him take possession of his new office, watching history repeat itself.

* * *

Draco was glad that the corridors were empty, that there was no one to see him take possession of his new office. To watch history repeat itself.

His trunk levitated behind him, following him. The dungeon level corridors were cold compared to the mild heat of the English summer outside. He kept his hands in the pockets of his robe, feeling for once like his hair was too light, that it lit up the darkened halls as much as a torch might.

He was almost embarrassingly grateful for McGonagall's offer. Thirteen months in the world outside of Hogwarts after the last battle was enough to make him want to hide, and Malfoy Manor simply would not do. The bulk of the Malfoy fortune had gone towards restitution payments of various sorts, and the power and prestige they'd once had was gone. He'd almost considered adopting his mother's maiden name for some distance, but for Salazar's sake he'd gone to school with some of the very students he'd be teaching. They knew who he was. He couldn't really hide. Not even here.

Still, of all the places he could go right now, Hogwarts was the closest thing available as a refuge. He would find no love at the new Ministry of Magic. The risks associated with entering business were too high, especially when he now had neither power nor money to spend. Those that had been allied with Dumbledore would never forgive him for all the years of torment and pain caused by him and his family. Those who had once been his friends, his allies and cronies, would never forgive him for his family's last minute defection. He was in no man's land.

He found the office that had once belonged to his head of house. The office and rooms that would be his now. He wondered if Snape too had been torn between seeing them as a sanctuary and a prison.

Draco wondered what had possessed him to seek out Hogwarts. And what had possessed Minerva McGonagall to give him a chance. He knew that he hadn't been much help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts up to now. He'd made a few token attempts to help, but the dirty looks he'd received and the snide remarks about him being the reason it was in ruins in the first place had dissuaded him from continuing. It wouldn't have helped his family's reputation at that point anyway.

The walls of the office seemed to press in on him. He didn't know how long he stood there, his trunk still obediently behind him, but slowly, he began to feel that the walls were not trying to suffocate him, but to embrace him. This was home now.

He would throw himself into teaching himself everything he needed to know before September first. He had one last test to pass before he would be allowed to teach, but he had no doubt he would pass. For one thing, he had nowhere else to go. And no one else wanted this job anyway.


	2. Firsts--Year One

**Author's Note: **This story is kind of coming to me in bits and pieces. I think it's going to be a series of glimpses into Draco's life as a professor. I don't expect most of the scenes to be real long, just glimpses as to how Draco is progressing in life after the war. This is very much Epilogue, What Epilogue. Enjoy!

* * *

Draco had been spending as much time as possible in his office or classroom or living quarters. Without the students in residence, it wasn't particularly necessary for him to be present at meals in the Great Hall. The house elves would bring him anything he asked for. He hadn't looked in the mirror in weeks, but suspected that he was paler than ever and that there might be circles under his eyes.

Beyond the house-elves, Minerva McGonagall had been his only visitor. She never commented, but he could read pity and disappointment and worry all tangled up in her face. Not that she had the time to spare him any real attention to do anything about it, even if she had been feeling inclined to do so. She had too much to do with coordinating the ever continuing task of healing Hogwarts, in body and mind so to speak, and ensuring that the castle would be safe for the students who were coming.

Today however, that would all change. He knew he should look in the mirror and attempt to make himself look presentable before the examiner arrived. Minerva had said that he would have to pass his Potions NEWT if nothing else if he was to begin teaching. The examiner was making a special trip to test him. If he passed…

If he passed, he really would be a Hogwarts professor. And the students would all arrive tomorrow. And before that, he would have to face the staff meeting at 9 AM. He'd been avoiding the staff room since his arrival, unwilling to meet the eyes of his former teachers, now colleagues. He doubted they'd see him as a colleague. They'd see him for what he really was. A refugee. Hiding from the world within the walls of Hogwarts.

Within his own head, he heard a bitter chuckle, though no sound came from his lips. It would have been too much effort. If he was a refugee hiding from the world which left him no place in it after the war, what we're all of they? What were they hiding from? Some of them had been here a very long time.

The image in the mirror was no worse than he expected, and he dressed in a clean set of robes and even took the time to perform a de-wrinkling charm. The examiner would know that there were special circumstances involved requiring him to test today but Draco had no means of knowing whether being granted a position at Hogwarts was on the line.

What would McGonagall do if he failed? What would he do? He couldn't fail.

He kept his mouth set with determination as he walked out to meet the wizard administering the exam. It was almost a surprise to see him. Quite an ordinary looking wizard, no majorly distinguishing features, but Draco had seen no one but McGonagall and the house-elves for weeks.

Grueling hours later his work was done and he waited to learn his fate.

Though the tension in his body released somewhat when the man announced that he passed, he didn't smile. It had been a long time since he smiled. He thanked the man and turned to the Headmistress, who had been standing by waiting for the pronouncement as anxiously as he had.

"Welcome aboard, Professor Malfoy. We have a staff meeting at 9 AM sharp tomorrow. The students will arrive tomorrow evening and I expect to see you at the feast, as well as all other meals from this point on. The rest of your teaching materials and the faculty handbook will be delivered to your quarters shortly."

He nodded. One trial done, a thousand to go.

* * *

Draco sat at the table in his best robes. It took all of his upbringing not to fidget. He was seated between Trelawny and Vector and didn't anticipate being able to make much conversation with either of them. The staff meeting had been painful enough. Some members of the staff had seen him since his arrival. Many of them had been professors here when he was still a student, such a short time ago. He could see questioning looks on some faces, but no one contradicted Minerva's introduction of him at the time.

Now he sat, waiting for the first years to arrive. The house tables were filled with the older students. He wondered how many of them could see the threstals that pulled their carriages up to school.

Hagrid led the first years into the room in a skittish line. Flitwick-Filius he corrected himself-set out the Sorting Hat and three legged stool.

As the brim opened and the scratchy voice began to sing, Draco hardly listened to the words. As each student approached the stool and took his or her turn, he wondered whether they would be one of his charges. Yes, he would teach them all, but some would be members of his house. There were no other Slytherins in residence who could have become the head of house. Even from a distance, he could see where cliques had started to form on the train and wondered how many of those fledgling friendships would survive the Sorting?

He watched a girl with brown pigtails, a dark eyed boy, and and a gangly sandy haired fellow join the Slytherin table. He tried not to appear too interested or too bored as four more students were sorted into Slytherin. Seven. He had seven first years. It seemed so few, though just possibly…too many.

* * *

Draco was already at his desk as his first class filed into the room. Second years. At least they were young enough not to have been at school with him. He wondered if McGonagall had arranged it that way on purpose.

"Everyone sit down. Be silent."

Gradually the room quieted.

"Open your books to page one. I trust you all did the assigned reading. Now…" as he began to review the material they should have read over the summer, he realized that the sandy haired girl in the third row was chatting with the boy next to her, and in the back row a student appeared to be drawing unicorns. Did they really think he wouldn't notice? He continued lecturing, pausing long enough to pick up the piece of parchment covered in unicorns, and glare at the student. He stood up at the front of the room and crumpled the parchment pointedly, dropping it in a bin. He continued his lecture.

At the end of the lesson the students left, but he knew that only half of them had been paying him any attention.

He knew that there were professors when he was a student who you simply didn't cross. Snape had been one of those, though he'd known he was a privileged exemption in that class—he knew other people didn't even think of crossing Snape. And McGonagall. No one in their right mind tried to pull the wool over her eyes or disrespect her in the classroom. He wouldn't survive teaching if he couldn't become one of those professors. He had to. Maybe he'd start the next lesson with a reminder of the dangers of potion making and what could happen when it all went wrong. He growled in frustration as he saw that the student who had been drawing unicorns at the begging of class had drawn something else later—a caricature of himself and someone pouring a boiling cauldron over his head.

Discipline. He was going to have to discipline them all. He wouldn't let the next class get out of hand.


	3. Yule--Year One

**Author's Note: **Just a little something.

* * *

_**Yule**_

* * *

Draco was sure that this last class was going intentionally slow. All the same, he was glad to know that it was the last one before everyone went home for the winter holidays. He'd be pleased to have a couple of weeks of peace, with only a minimal number of students present. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere, but at least then there wouldn't be so many faces to see every day.

He inhaled with displeasure. Under the best of circumstances, this was not a potion that smelled particularly good. When brewed by a bunch of amateurs who couldn't follow instructions, it was worse. He stalked through the line of tables, peering over shoulders and into cauldrons. "Clearly, no one's minds are on the task at hand. Welton's potion is nearly thick enough to stand his wand up in, and Parch's is so thin I can see the bottom of her cauldron. You will not remedy this in the next ten minutes. Clean up these pathetic attempts and get out." There wasn't as much vitriol in his voice as there could have been—he was ready for a break as much as they were.

There was a scrape of chairs as everyone began to do their best to clean out their cauldron's and get rid of the debris left from cutting ingredients. By now, they all knew that if they missed anything during clean up, there was a good chance he would make sure it appeared in their next potion and ruined it. Wickham had learned that the shrivel-fig skin he hadn't thought was important enough to clear of his table created a nauseating smoke when it found it's way into his next sleeping potion. And Bingly had learned about the misfortunes someone could have if they didn't feel like putting forth the effort to clean their cauldron properly.

He watched the classroom empty itself and heaved a sigh of relief. Suddenly he found he was not alone. There was a little mouse of a girl in front of him. Apparently the classroom was not empty.

"Professor Malfoy," she started, looking awkward, though there was a determined glint in her eye.

"What is it?" he asked, exasperated.

Her jaw firmed and she reached into her bag. "I just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas." She pulled out a package, wrapped in plain brown paper and thrust it into his hand. She turned and all but fled.

Draco stared after her for a moment. She was a bright enough student, not exceptional, but hardworking. She tended to try to help whoever happened to be sitting next to her, though some days there was no one. He stared at the parcel in his hand for a moment before tugging on the twine and opening it. There was what appeared to be a handmade scarf. It was light blue. It was rather lumpy, as though the person making it was still learning to do things consistently.

He hadn't expected a single present this year. He wasn't on speaking terms with his mother or father. He had no friends. His only thought for Christmas was that he was glad to see the end of the students for a short while.

Slowly, he wrapped the scarf around his neck. He ran a finger down the hanging length of it. While it might be lumpy, it did seem soft, and warm.


	4. Spring--Year One

**Author's Note: **Happy Thanksgiving, to everyone celebrating Thanksgiving today. And happy Thursday to everybody else! General updates: I got my 1-shot Labyrinth story up this week, called _Take Me Away_. I've written most of Hermione and Draco's date in _Mugglefied_, so that should hopefully go up by Monday. And this story was prodding me in the back of the head, so it demanded a little attention. Good luck to everyone finishing NaNoWriMo this week. My NaNoWriMo attempts got rather derailed by Draco and Hermione. I've probably come pretty close to the 50K goal…just not on the story I meant to be working on.

* * *

_**Spring**_

* * *

"Draco, a moment please."

He rather knew there was a long-suffering look on his face as he turned to her, but he didn't object. The hesitation was getting smaller. She was getting more accustomed to calling him by name, and hearing him call her by her own. "What is it, Minerva?" It amused him to watch her attempt to hide her frown.

"I was wondering if you'd given any thought to the upcoming summer holidays. What are your plans?"

"Plans?" he asked, a little stunned.

Her voice was tart. "For the summer. Yes. Many professors choose to do research somewhere, or in some cases go abroad. I was wondering if you'd given any thought to what you might do with your time."

He supposed it should have occurred to him that just as the students had other things going on in their lives during the summer, the professors might as well. Clearly, either this was something McG—_Minerva_ had either expected him to have an answer to, or she had some expectation for what she thought he ought to be doing with his time. He supposed he ought to come up with some sort of answer quickly. He started to drawl, stalling for time as he answered. "Well, it did seem like there were quite a few things I might be doing. I had thought to spend some time sharpening my lessons plans for next year, based on this year's experiences." He studied her face as he spoke. Clearly she was expecting more. Best to keep talking. "I thought I might also put in a little self-study time on Charms and Transfiguration."

The Headmistress's lips were pursed together. "Well then. I take it you're planning to remain in residence over the summer?"

"That was the plan, yes," he responded testily.

"Very well. I will make a note of it. If you have either the time or inclination, it would be very helpful if you would check in with Poppy and see what potions she may need prior to the start of term and brew them. Pepper-Up potion in particular seems to be highly called for in September and October, and there are always a few first years that need a Dreamless Sleep Draught to get them through the first week or two." She hesitated, pausing for just a moment. "If you decide you might like to do something else this summer, I do have a few inquiries I've received that I think you might be well suited for."

His voice was dry. "If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know."

With a brisk nod, the Headmistress departed to see to her other duties, scurrying off down the corridor.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He had no intention of leaving Hogwarts or its grounds this summer. Even the thought of going as far as Hogsmeade didn't really have any appeal. There would be witches and wizards there who knew the things he'd done. Who'd scorn him for who he was, no matter which side of the war they had been on. No, he was much better here. Anything he needed, he could order by owl.

Besides, there was little point in thinking of summer now. Spring term was only halfway through. He needed to begin OWL review for the fifth years and NEWT review for the seventh years. And he'd found that some of the first years were surprisingly anxious about their first set of end of year exams. Really, what did a first year have to be anxious about?

His shoes tapped softly against the stones as he worked his way down from the first floor of the castle back to the dungeons.

The darkness away from the windows was welcoming, and he slipped into it like a hand into a glove. He was best off being where no one could see him, and finding some small way to be useful while he hid from the world.


	5. Summer--Year One

**Author's Note:** This chapter ended up a little longer than I was intending. Next chapter should go up sometime later this week. I'm glad that this story seems to have found fresh life again. I was thinking about it the other day and I couldn't help but say, _Hmm, what happens to Professor Malfoy_? I'm still not sure how many chapters this one will be-we'll see what Draco has to say about it.

* * *

_**Summer **_

* * *

Draco was relieved that he'd just finished the last exam he was going to have to administer for the year. One of the first years had actually looked at her exam paper and burst into tears.

He'd exchanged her soggy exam paper for a fresh one and asked if she needed to stand in the hall and gather herself for a moment, and then moved on, but it'd left him feeling uncomfortable the rest of the day.

It'd be a relief when all the students left in another day or so. He wouldn't have to worry about the look on his face so much walking down the hall. He'd heard more than one of the younger students say to one another this year that sometimes he looked like a fire breathing dragon. He found that rather hard to believe. Breathing fire would take a lot more energy than he had most days. He could go back to dining alone in his office, as he had done the summer before.

Still, with the students gone, he might possibly take his broom out onto the pitch at some point this summer. There was something to be said for the feeling of the wind on your face, no matter how accustomed he was coming to the cool stone and dark passageways.

There was a knock at the door of his classroom, and he looked up, slightly annoyed at whoever was disturbing his solitude. "Come in."

Minerva. Of course it was.

"Draco. How did your exams go?"

"Well enough. Some of the students surprised me. Others should have studied harder."

"I see." She paused for a moment. "I came down to see if you had any interest in the letters I received regarding people interested in obtaining the services of a skilled potions master this summer." She approached and set the letters on his desk.

He left them sitting there, untouched. He rather expected at least one might be from his mother. He hadn't been back to the Manor in nearly a year. He couldn't go back. Wouldn't. "I haven't changed my plans. You might want to redirect these to Horace Slughorn, if he's still willing to take on that sort of work."

"I'm afraid Horace isn't up for the level of exertion involved in some of these tasks anymore. I think you'll find a wide variety of fields have use for an experienced potions master. You're welcome to accept or decline any you choose, as long as it won't interfere with next term. You are interested in staying on for next term, I take it?"

"There is nowhere else for me," he said. "Unless you're unhappy with my performance, I'm here for the duration."

Draco was relieved when she left a few minutes later, after reminding him that she'd be giving out an official performance review in a few weeks, but that she was happy with his work thus far. She gave a sharp reminder that the letters on his desk had been addressed to Hogwarts, and that as a Hogwarts faculty member it was his duty to see to it that they were answered. As she left, she reminded him that as a professor remaining in residence for the summer, he could be called upon to introduce Muggle-born first years to the wizarding world. She closed the door before he could make a reply. Salazar. Was there anyone _less_ suited to that task than himself?

* * *

It was days after Minerva's last visit to his classroom that Draco finally spared a few minutes to open the letters she had delivered. Two of them were inquiries by incoming families asking if it might be possible for their bright young child to receive private tutoring from Hogwarts professors prior to beginning their academic careers; they particularly wished for tutoring in potions. Absolutely not. Another was from the family of a student who hadn't fared well in his class this term, asking if tutoring from the professor would available to help overcome the student's shortcoming. No. It wasn't Draco's fault if the student couldn't be bothered to listen to instructions. There were a lot of tragedies in this world for which Draco knew he must shoulder some share of the blame; this wasn't one of them.

He continued to go through the stack. There was a man interested in opening a potions shop on Diagon Alley, but he thought he'd benefit from the wisdom of a more experienced brewer. Would the Hogwarts Potions Master be willing to assist him in this endeavor for the next few months? No. No, he wouldn't.

One letter was actually from a woman saying that she needed to procure Veritaserum for the purposes of exposing the affairs of her husband and she could not obtain it by ordinary means. She'd pay handsomely if he could provide it. Of course, none of that was said outright, but Draco could read between the lines easily enough. Growing up in the Malfoy household was one lesson in politics after another.

Had Minerva really thought he'd be interested in _any _of these? Tutoring young brats seemed much more aligned with something Slughorn would have been interested in.

Draco continued to sort through them. He raised an eyebrow as he read that one of the leading broomstick manufacturers was seeking a consultation regarding his improvised flying ointment formula used in making brooms. Unfortunately, Draco rather doubted his expertise extended that far. Besides, would the man still be interested if he knew whom he was addressing, when he directed the letter to the Hogwarts Potions' Master?

A man working at a dragon preserve was wondering if Hogwarts would be willing to donate healing potions this season as they were training several new apprentices and they tended to underestimate the beasts they worked with. Having someone on site to prepare the potions would be ideal since it was difficult to know what would be needed.

Two of the letters actually came from familiar names.

_To any of the staff of Hogwarts, willing and able to assist me,_

_ In memory of your colleague and former student Remus Lupin, I am in the process of setting up a foundation to offer support to those afflicted by lycanthropy. To this end, I have procured a building that can house a number of lycanthropes. However, while a roof over their head is a good step forward, a better step would be to be able to ease their pain and suffering. While I'm more than capable of producing minor healing potions on my own—we need these at an alarming rate, due to the amount of damage lycanthropes cause to themselves during the full moon._

_ I would much prefer to be taught how to make the Wolfsbane potion and minimize the suffering lycanthropes undergo each month. Due to discriminatory hiring practices, it is extremely hard for people suffering from lycanthropy to remain employed, and the few current sources for this elixir are extremely expensive. I am talented at potions, however, I have no wish to cause permanent injury or pain to anyone by brewing this potion incorrectly. On that note, I would like to find an able teacher who can brew the potion in the meantime and teach me to brew it as well, so that our organization may become as self-sufficient as possible._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

Draco read the letter over again. Granger the do-gooder, out doing good again. He shuddered. Memories of Fenrir Greyback's foul breath, his fangs still with rotting meat between them. Greyback had been one of the Dark Lord's favorite tools for threatening anyone even dreaming of insubordination. He'd had nightmares again and again.

Why would Granger want to help people like that?

He shuddered and set the letter aside.

_Hogwarts,_

_ Hello! I'm planning a journey into the east to document green verpillas in their natural habitat. As the verpilla is quite poisonous, the Ministry has insisted that to get authorization for my trip, I must have a qualified potions master accompanying my team. All travel expenses would be included, and we'll be traveling with a shaman particularly good at keeping bad influences at bay that could infiltrate the camp._

_ For more information, please write back soon. If we can find all the personnel required, I would like to leave no later than July 1. the trip will take approximately 6 weeks. If I cannot find all the personnel required (the Ministry has a laundry list, including a healer, potions master, and someone from the department of magical law enforcement), then I'll be trying again next year. Hopefully the verpillas won't have migrated far._

_Luna Lovegood_

Draco had to read that letter twice before he could quite believe his eyes. Knowing Minerva would badger him if he didn't respond to the letters sooner rather than later, he wrote short but polite variations of "no" to all of them except Granger. He wasn't sure why he did it, but to her he wrote and asked why people like Greyback ought to have their lives made any easier after inflicting pain and terror on others.

He did toy with the idea of making the potion all the same, just to see if he could. He knew the theory but had never tested it. It might be something to work on this summer. He could (possibly) do a few bottles this summer and sending them on. There was no need to meet up with anyone.

He signed all of his letters "Potions Master, Hogwarts." No need to include his name. All he wanted was to fade away.


	6. Fall--Year Two

**Author's Note:** Another glimpse into the life of Professor Malfoy. Right now, no pairing is listed for this story. I can't guarantee that there will be a romantic pairing; there's a lot of aspects to explore here other than romance. However, if there is, I'm leaning towards someone other than Hermione. She rather hijacked the last 2 stories that there supposed to be about Draco. This one is his. She and her werewolves can wait for the next one. :-P

* * *

**Fall**

* * *

Summer passed into fall. Draco had enjoyed the feeling of the sun and wind on his face, flying while the grounds were empty. It was with great reluctance that he put his broom away again as September started to close in on him.

He'd used a fair amount of his time brewing potions for the infirmary at the request of Poppy Pomfrey. It was really quite impossible to say no to her about anything, no matter how much he might try.

By August he'd managed to brew a Wolfsbane potion that he felt confident enough in to send out for use. He'd kept up a mild correspondence with Granger over the time since the first letter he'd received. He never signed his name, and while she usually replied to his letters within a day or two, he sometimes let hers sit for two or three weeks. She'd laid out a lengthy argument on why not all werewolves were like Greyback and how they hadn't asked for the condition they were in. He fell asleep reading one of the letters. It was three pages, front and back. How could anyone be expected to manage that sort of lecture in one sitting?

Still, while he wasn't sure he agreed with her, he did teach himself to brew the potion, and sent a batch of it off before summer's end.

It was a shame that he would have to go back to eating in the Great Hall again and making smalltalk with his colleagues, but there was no help for it. September had arrived. Those that had been away were returning and taking up their usual seats. Hagrid had disappeared for some weeks. Draco learned that Professor Vector and Ronan had gone to the southern hemisphere for research on the night skies.

There was one form of relief that September brought. He had been forced to go out twice to introduce Muggle-born students to their heritage. He couldn't imagine a more awkward encounter than his first meeting. He'd Apparated to an alleyway not far from the home, and followed the map that had been provided to the front door, knocking on it. "I'm here for Trisha Appleby," he said, consulting his list when the door had opened.

It was promptly slammed in his face, and Draco could hear angry rumbling from the other side of the door, which mostly seemed to involve very uncomplimentary things about what sort of man would come asking after an eleven year old.

Draco was sorely tempted to just Apparate into their living room to get their attention, but he gritted his teeth and knocked time the door was latched and only opened a few inches.

The man gave him a glower that would have stunned a giant. "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying, and if you're asking after Trisha, you're clearly a decade too old. Get out before I call the police."

"Sir," Draco said, trying not to grit his teeth. "I am here about Trisha, but I'd like to speak to you. As I'm sure you're aware, Trisha is very special. I'm sure you've seen her doing things you can't quite explain? Things that don't make sense? I can explain them."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you?"

Draco decided there was no help for it. He'd have to demonstrate. He looked around to make sure there was no one else in sight, and then turned on his heel, reappearing on the other side of the door. He tapped the gaping man on the shoulder. "Is this a good enough reason to believe me?" He caught sight of a pigtailed girl standing on the stairs, watching him.

"There are other people like me!" she squealed.

The blonde winced at the pitch of her voice and prayed to Salazar that the girl wouldn't be in his house. He drew a letter out of the pocket of his robes. "This, I believe is for you." He watched, impressed as the letter flew out of his hand and into her outstretched fingers.

He had spent the better part of the evening answering questions about Hogwarts, magic, and the wizarding world, and handing over instructions for getting to Diagon Alley and to Platform 9 3/4. His second introduction to a Muggle-born student had gone slightly better, but there was really no easy way to turn someone's world upside-down in an afternoon.

It was impossible to quantify just how relieved he was that he wouldn't have to do this duty again until the following summer.

All in all, he could live with the returning school year. It gave him another excuse for putting off his mother. All summer he'd received letters from her inviting him home for Sunday brunch or a Saturday dinner. He couldn't go back in that house. He wouldn't.


	7. Winter--Year Two

**Author's Note:** Well, this chapter fought me tooth and nail. I wrote the first sentence weeks ago (when I posted the last chapter) and then closed the document. When I reopened it, I couldn't remember where this chapter was going to go and I tried to remember for ages. However, here it is. It's longer than I was intending. I was trying to keep the chapters in this story short, with a peek in at Draco's life every season or so at this point, and maybe every year or a few years later once he's found his rhythm. Anyway, it's all still evolving. There are so many aspects of a post-war Draco to look at other than romance that I'm having lots of fun exploring this one. I'm sure Hermione will forgive me eventually for not really including her in this story. Happy Valentine's Day!

* * *

**Winter**

* * *

Draco was approached halfway through the fall term by a fourth year student. He was just looking forward to two days without having to have any major direct interactions with his students He was just getting ready to lock up his classroom and go to his office when there was a knock on the door and the fourth year Ravenclaw came in without waiting for him to answer.

"Professor, do you have a moment?"

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Yes. I have a minute. What do you need?"

The student toyed with their scarf for a minute before plucking up the courage to continue. "I want to become a Healer when I leave Hogwarts, with a concentration in potions making. But potions is difficult for me. I study for potions three times as long as everything else, and I still only get fair marks."

Draco searched his mind for the student's name. "Greenwich right?"

"Yes. Cassidy Greenwich."

He went to his desk and started pulling his records on his fourth year Ravenclaw class. They had double potions with the Hufflepuffs. "You're meticulous about getting the details right, but you seem to miss the bigger understanding of why it works. And your actual potions work on the practical side never seems to quite turn out right." He shuffled through his notes. "Your sleeping potion was too thin, your shrinking solution too brown, and the antidote you made last week had chunks in it."

"I swear I'm following all the instructions, I just don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Draco did his best not to pinch his nose. _Be patient_, he reminded himself. "You haven't blown anything up. I don't think you're making any large mistakes. Just enough small ones that the potions aren't quite right."

"I need to be good at potions," Cassidy said fervently.

He shut the file he was looking at and looked at the student in front of him. Fourteen years old. So young. Frequently Draco forgot that he himself was only twenty. Sometimes he felt decades older. "I'll see if I can find one of the older students to tutor you. Merrick Manking is in your house and gets excellent marks. Sixth year, so he's passed his OWL not buried in NEWT studies yet. He has my class on Monday. I'll ask him about it then. Will that be all?"

Cassidy didn't move. His jaw was firmly set, and Draco was reminded, that, even as young as he was, this boy was still old enough to have survived the reign of terror under the Carrows. "Sir, my sister is in St. Mungo's. There's no cure for what she has, not now. I don't just need to be good at potions. I need to be brilliant at them. I need to understand them. I don't just want good marks in your class. I want to save my sister's life. Would you tutor me?"

Draco had no desire to tutor this boy one-on-one. Not that he exactly had anything else taking up his time. He wasn't heading any student organizations. He did have his duties as head of his house, and as a professor, but even so, he had time on his hands he was always trying to find ways to fill. Usually he read. Sometimes he would check in with Poppy and see what she needed restocked. He had to hand it to the woman. All her years here…she was always there for the students, whatever the need. What would the reign of the Carrows have been like without her to heal the hurts? The whole school owed her, and they probably never even thought of it. The face of the boy in front of him was so serious, so ernest. "You're not going to be able to cure her yourself. And I will not tutor you if you're planning to experiment on yourself, her, or anyone else," he said, quiet and serious.

"No, sir. I swear. I know there's a long road ahead of me. But I don't want to get put out of the running because I don't do well enough on my OWLs next year."

With a degree of reluctance he did his best to hide, Draco agreed to tutor him on Monday afternoons. He'd observe the boy the next time he was in class and figure out what he was doing wrong. The sooner he helped him, the sooner he'd be out of his hair. Draco found he had no desire to lock himself in his rooms with a book. Sighing, he went to his wardrobe and pulled out a slightly lumpy scarf and put it around his neck. He'd go out for a walk on the grounds instead.

* * *

The weather was terrible. No one in their right minds would be out in this degree of cold and wet misery. Draco had decided this was a good time to go for a flight. He'd been itching to go flying for weeks, but he refused to do it any time a student might be around to see him, so thus far he'd limited himself to flights over the summer when the school was empty.

It was the Christmas holidays now, and while the school wasn't totally empty, most of the students had gone home. With the weather as it was, Draco doubted anyone would be around to see him test himself against the elements. It made him feel alive as few things did anymore.

He flew close to the goal post and swerved at the last moment. It had been close, buffeted by the wind. He made a circle over the pitch. McGonagall had asked if he'd be willing to referee a match or two this year but he had politely declined. He doubted anyone would consider him an impartial referee.

Draco kept flying until his hair was plastered to his head with the cold and the wet, and his lumpy blue scarf had icicles in it. The warming charm on his hands and shoes had long since worn out. He landed on the pitch and only then caught sight of a figure up in the stands. He wasn't sure he saw them at first. They were small, and bundled up in a cloak, with a thick jumper over their robes.

He stared irately at the figure, who wasn't moving, and wondered what he ought to do. He hated the thought that he'd been seen. He'd never seen any of his professors out playing Quidditch alone in a snow storm. It didn't seem very…mature. He considered going back to the castle and denying he'd been out here if anyone asked, but the fact that the bundled figure wasn't moving got his conscience and he mounted his broom again and flew to the stand where they were.

An eleven year old girl with the Slytherin crest on her robes had the grace to look embarrassed when he reached her.

"You'll freeze to death out here. Let's get you back to the castle," he said, probably more gruffly than he intended. He landed in the stands and put his broom over his shoulder. To his surprise, she was looking at him with awe.

"You're really good," she said.

"I've had a lot of practice. Come along, you'll freeze out here." He motioned to the stairs and indicated that she should go ahead of him.

She pried herself off of the seat and rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them.

The last thing Draco needed was for the girl to get frostbite, so he stopped her long enough to cast a warming charm on her. "That should last you the walk back to the castle."

"Thank you, Professor Malfoy."

She seemed inclined to dawdle, as if she wished to speak, so Draco walked with her, shooing her along to keep her going.

"Professor Malfoy, can I ask you a question?" she asked, as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You just did."

"I mean, another one. Please?"

"Ask," he said, resigned.

"You fly really well. I've heard…I've heard you were on the house-team when you went here. Would you, I mean, that is, if you don't mind…would you give me flying lessons?"

Draco didn't look at her. "Madam Hooch gives all the first years flying lessons."

"Oh, I know, but she's so…stodgy. You're so good at it. I want to be able to fly the way you do. I can't get any lessons other than Madam Hooch unless I make the house team, but I can't make the house team with lessons from Madam Hooch."

"Practice at home this summer," he told her. "First years never make the house team anyway."

She tugged nervously at one of her pigtails. "Professor, I'm a Muggle-born. There's no one else to teach me." As they reached the doors of the castle and he hadn't made any response, she ventured again. "Will you at least think about it? Professor? Please?"

Draco felt as if this little first year looking at him so hopefully was like a weight on his chest. She was asking for his help. But if she was older, if she had any idea of who he really was, she never would have asked for his help. But with the look she was giving him, it was hard to say no outright. She was a Muggle-born Slytherin. How was she supposed to learn the things a wizard or witch learns outside of the classroom? "I'll think about it. Now, if you're still feeling cold in ten minutes, go to Madam Pomfrey. If you're feeling okay, go back to your dormitory and stay there until dinner. I don't want you out in this weather."

Her face lit up. "Thank you, Professor." She dashed off in the direction of the Slytherin dormitory before he could change his mind.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Does anyone have any good Madam Pomfrey stories to recommend? Or stories about the professors going and telling Muggle-borns about Hogwarts? I feel like those would be awesome stories, and unless I can find some good ones to read, I'm going to have to write them, so if you've got any suggestions on those, let me know and I'll R&amp;R.


	8. Springtime--Year Two

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a little longer than I was expecting, again. I'm really enjoying this story. I hope you are too. Definitely different from other things I've written. Part of me wants to go back and flesh this out some more. The other part likes that I'm keeping it to relatively short chapters that cover a good span of time. I juts wrote this last night, and a big chunk of of the next chapter of Mugglefied. I could use a pick me up-it's already been a long week. Review please?

* * *

**Springtime-Year Two**

* * *

Draco was glad that students were going home for the spring holidays. Somehow, his agreement to possibly help one of his students with her flying lessons had turned into an extra lesson for half a dozen first years—shockingly, not all from his own house.

Well, they _were_ first years. They didn't really know the truth about him. Of course they were willing to take extra help from him. They were too young to know better.

And another student had joined Cassidy's study sessions.

Draco supposed the extra distractions weren't a terrible idea. It would take him that much longer to read through everything in the library this way. He'd been a little surprised that after the first week of extra flying lessons, Minerva hadn't come to say anything to him about it. By the third week when she said nothing, he wondered if she didn't know.

After a month of extra flying lessons for the students who had sought him out, Minerva had actually said something to him in passing. "I'm looking forward to seeing how next year's Quidditch teams shape up next year." There was a hint of a smile on her lips and she nodded to him once.

Evidently, he had the Headmistress's approval. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Most days he still felt even a small pleasure he found would disappear if he thought about it too much.

* * *

Draco was surprised when Professor Trelawny failed to turn up at dinner one evening. Not that he was displeased. He'd learned to make enough smalltalk to get through a meal with Trelawny and Vector if it was absolutely necessary, but he still struggled to interact with his former professors. Not that it was much easier to deal with those that had been put in place after the end of the war.

Two positions that had created noticeable vacancies after the war were Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts. No one had been willing to take the positions directly after the war, and at last, the Ministry had offered a couple of human sacrifices. A retired Auror had agreed to take on Defense Against the Dark Arts until a more suitable replacement could be found (none had been as of yet). No one had had been keen to take on Muggle Studies, though from what Draco had gleaned in conversations with Minerva and bits and pieces of the staff meetings, everyone agreed that it was a subject that needed desperately to be taught with a revised curriculum. There was even talk of making it a mandatory class if they could find the right teacher. Someone had volunteered to redo the Muggle Studies curriculum, but wouldn't teach it, and so the Ministry had been forced to fill that roll as well, though the teacher only came to the castle during the day.

Draco was pulled out of his reverie by Professor Sprout—Pomona—he corrected himself, taking Trelawny's empty seat and nudging him as she reached for the mashed potatoes.

"Rolanda and Filius and I are going to the village tomorrow. You ought to join us and get out of the castle for a bit. The students don't have a Hogsmeade trip this weekend, so it shouldn't be crowded. You've been looking at bit peaky. The walk will do you good," she said said, down to earth as ever.

Only long years of lessons in etiquette prevented Draco from staring at the witch outright. He wondered if maybe she was talking to Professor Vector, but no…Septima was talking to the Astronomy professor. Still, his glance slid sideways over the Herbology professor. He hadn't known her well or particularly liked her class when he was a student. He didn't see much of her now.

"We're not going to bite or poison you, you know. Just thought you might want to see something other than these walls for a change," she looked at him evenly for a moment and continued to choose items for her plate.

Draco tried to find the words. Was there a reason not to go? Did they just want to interrogate him? Scare him off? He had nowhere else to go. Did they honestly want to befriend him? That seemed too strange a possibility. To his great surprise, he saw Pomona roll her eyes. It was almost startling enough to cause his mouth to twitch in what someone might have mistaken for a smile.

"We'll be stopping by your office around eleven on Saturday. If you want to come, you're welcome." She didn't force any more conversation on him at that moment, and instead turned her attention to the person on her other side.

Draco was still undecided when he left the table that night, but he was very much considering the offer. It might actually be…pleasant to converse with someone other than his students for an hour or two.

* * *

The blonde wasn't entirely surprised the day Minerva asked him to stay back after a staff meeting. He'd been expecting it for some weeks.

"Have you given any thought to how you'll be spending the summer? I trust you've gotten all the rough spots smoothed out in your syllabus by this time?"

Draco forced a smile. "I'm still considering my options."

"Well," she said briskly, "if you decide to stay at the castle this summer, there are about half a dozen Muggle-borns who will need a professor to introduce them to the magical world. You seem to have done so well with the first years this year, that I thought you might take on a few more introductions this summer than you did last year."

He fought down a grimace. "I'll give that some serious thought."

Minerva handed him a stack of letters. "If you decide to do something outside the castle this summer, there are a number of opportunities that have come up."

"Thank you, I'll be sure to respond to them all," he said, smooth manners. If he could get out of the room without her saying anything else, he'd consider this a winning day. He nodded and turned for the door.

"There is one other thing. Julian got called back to the Ministry this afternoon. Could you fill in for him with his third year class? He's left the lesson plan on his desk. Pomona is covering the second years, and I've got the fourth years."

Draco felt a knot in his stomach. He was going to have to cover Defense? The students wouldn't listen to a word he said. "I'm not sure…"

"You'll do fine, Draco. You have a free period then. I'm sure you can handle filling in for him for one lesson. Carry on."

Draco stared at the Headmistress as she left the room and breathed deeply. Sometimes he was convinced she was in the wrong house. He stuffed the letters she'd given him into his pocket to be dealt with later. Evidently, he had an extra class this afternoon.


	9. Summer Excursions--Year Two

**Author's Note:** I may have to just admit that even though these chapters are all going to take place a few months apart and just give us a glimpse into Draco's life…they're all seeming to flesh out into the 1000-1500 word length instead of the 500-1000 they were when I started. Oops? Anyway, Draco's second summer is here. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm trying to deliver a lot of information in a few words.

* * *

**Summer—Year Two**

* * *

Draco was beginning to think he had made a colossal mistake. He should have agreed to going to meet the new Muggle-borns. Or giving that potions seminar St. Mungo's was asking for. Or hell, teaching Granger to make the Wolfsbane potion might be less painful than this.

Instead, he was slogging through mud at all hours of the night and getting eaten alive by the most vicious insects he'd ever encountered. The standard insect repelling charms didn't seem to do a damn thing to the little buggers. By day they camped. Evidently the green verpillas (if they existed, which he was beginning to doubt) were nocturnal. Walking all night and sleeping all day was just totally abnormal. And then there was the company. He looked sideways at the rather ethereal figure beside him. He was never quite sure what to expect.

Luna Lovegood's hair practically seemed to glow in the dark, and was so fine, it almost seemed to float around her head. She had a large stick she was testing the ground with, and quite pale skin. Every so often she'd pause, her head cocked to one side, and indicate a change of direction as though she'd heard something.

Draco hadn't heard a damn thing. Even with spells on his bag to reduce the weight, he wasn't pleased with the camping supplies, potions ingredients, food, water, and everything else he was carrying. Not that he was the only one carrying supplies, but still. The healer had a full medical kit with her, and the bloke form the department of magical law enforcement wore a grim look and adjusted the straps on his own pack. There were a couple of magical creature preservationists that were part of Lovegood's team as well. The shaman was the only one who seemed to avoid carrying too much of anything, but he was also the only one sleeping outside instead of in a tent.

An arm suddenly struck out across Draco's path, halting him. He followed the fingers up to the wrist and the sleeve and shoulder and saw that Lovegood had stopped. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing and she shook her head, putting a finger over her lips. She pointed.

There, on a branch, about 18 inches above Draco's head, was their quarry. If he'd been asked to give a description, Draco would have been hard pressed to provide one. It was very green, and didn't quite look like anything he could describe as a comparison. It didn't look particularly large or threatening. It was just sitting there…until suddenly it wasn't.

There was a scream behind Draco as he wheeled around and saw that the little beast had landed on the healer's head.

Luna's voice was quiet, calm, and professional. "Professor Malfoy, now might be an excellent time to fetch out the antidotes you've prepared. If he bites her, we'll only have about ten minutes to get the antidote in her. Marissa, stay calm. Make a soft cooing noise; it will help calm him down. Jeffries, now would be a very good time for you to try out that new spell we've been working on."

Draco stared for a moment—the healer looked petrified. Lovegood was having her assistant try out a spell they'd never used before? Salazar. Seeing his mother this summer might have been better than this. And then suddenly he remembered himself and pushed up his sleeve. Even though most of his things were in his pack, he'd strapped a couple of general antidote vials directly to his forearm in the event they were needed in a hurry. He handed it to Lovegood and watched with bated breath as the matter was dealt with.

Their first green verpilla had been captured with only one minor poisoning. Unfortunately, Luna was determined to find their nesting grounds, and she still had all of her staff for another three weeks. Draco shuddered at the thought. You couldn't exactly call in sick on this sort of expedition. Once you were there, you were there whether you wanted to be or not.

* * *

If Draco had had any energy left at that point, he would have run back into his office on August 15th and barred the door to ensure that his last two weeks of student-free peace wouldn't be interrupted. Instead, he walked slowly into St. Mungo's, where he was given an extremely thorough physical he wasn't sure was necessary, several vile tasting potions, and then sent on to the Ministry to give his report of the events he'd witnessed. He was hugely uncomfortable walking through the corridors, a place he'd once thought he'd have a place of power in. Now, all he wanted to do was hope no one noticed him. Fortunately, he made his report in the department regulating magical creatures and managed to escape without having to speak to anyone he knew directly. On his way out, he saw Granger through a window, having a very animated conversation with an older wizard and was relieved to have managed to make the report he was required to make and be gone before she could see him. Though he'd still exchanged occasional letters with her about her efforts with werewolves, Draco still only signed his letters as _Hogwarts Potions Master._ They were a nice distraction sometimes, even if he didn't agree with her. Especially when he didn't agree with her.

When Draco at last made it back to his office and living quarters, he'd found a stack of letters waiting for him (several in his mother's handwriting). Rather than answer them, he decided his best course of action for the evening was to find something alcoholic and to indulge himself. He'd been tramping through the wilderness for six bloody weeks. He deserved a good drink. He considered inviting Pomona and and Filius and Rolanda over. He didn't have an easy friendship with them by any means, but he'd discovered that they enjoyed coming together to gripe about the students, or occasionally celebrate one of their victories, or discuss research. Part of him just wanted to be alone for the evening, but the other part thought some company might be a good idea.

He wrote notes to them and sent them out as zooming memos before he could change his mind.

* * *

He couldn't help but think that there were other things he'd rather be doing at the moment than sitting in the last staff meeting before term started. He could be ignoring his mother's letters. Or working on his lesson plan. Checking the stock of potions ingredients. Watching paint dry.

Glancing around the room, he could see that he wasn't the only one who looked like they'd rather be elsewhere. Sybil didn't seem to have any awareness that she was in a staff meeting at all, and was busy looking into her teacup, ignoring the schedules that had just been passed out. Pomona was looking anxious and fidgeting as though she didn't understand why she had to waste daylight indoors for a meeting that could have perfectly been held after the sun went down. Filius was so eager to meet the new students that he nearly fell out of his chair. Or maybe that was just because he was sitting on a stack of books. Really, you'd have thought they could manage a permanent chair solution for the man. Draco realized Minerva was saying words now and that it might be in his best interest to pay some level of attention, lest he accidentally volunteer for something.

"As you all know, the Ministry has very graciously lent us Julian and Meredith for the last two years to cover Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies respectively. We are very grateful to have them both with us, Julian having come out of his retirement to assist us, and Meredith being on loan to us from the department of misuse of Muggle artifacts." She looked over her glasses at everyone. "As you know, these were both intended to be temporary appointments. If you know of anyone interested and qualified in filling the Muggle Studies position—or the transfiguration position—I would urge you to please have them write to me as soon as possible." Minerva had been continuing to manage all of the upper level transfiguration classes as well as her Headmistress duties. Rolanda had reluctantly taken on the first and second year Transfiguration classes last year, even though it wasn't her specialty. "I am pleased to announce that we do have a new member joining our staff this year. He will be arriving this evening so he has a chance to settle in before the students arrive on the train tomorrow. Neville Longbottom will be working alongside Julian this year to learn the finer points of teaching and what the position entails, and will take over for him full time, possibly as early as the spring term."

"Longbottom?" Draco muttered.

Minerva pierced him with her gaze and then continued speaking to the room at large. "Neville Longbottom is a highly accomplished wizard. While his passion is for Herbology, he has demonstrated excellent practical knowledge of defensive and offensive spells. I am pleased to add him to our staff this year and hope that _all _of you will do your best to make him feel welcome."

Draco did his best not to look at Minerva. Longbottom. He supposed it could have been worse. It could have been Potter or Granger or the Weasel. And just when he was starting to almost feel comfortable, Minerva had to do something like this to ruin his day. He'd survived working with Lovegood this summer, but he and Longbottom had a long history that the man wasn't likely to forget in a hurry.


	10. Autumn--Year Three

**Author's Note: **And Draco starts his third year of teaching. Working on the Law and Marriage epilogue in honor of the 6 month anniversary since my husband I got married, next chapter of Exhausted, and a one-shot about Harry after the war because it crept into my head. And a one-shot about McGaongall. Blame the muses. They won't leave me alone. I just posted chapter 38 of Mugglefied yesterday. This chapter is a little short, but I think the one shot about Harry should go up tomorrow, and the next chapter of this story should go up on Sunday after I've had a chance to edit it. Enjoy!

* * *

**Autumn—Year Three**

* * *

The Great Hall was filled with students again. Draco sat through the sorting ceremony and watched students walk to their tables with varied reactions. No one had tried to sit Longbottom near him. They hadn't spoken yet, but he'd watched Longbottom talk to their colleagues. He and Pomona seemed close, and the expression was subtle, but Draco was almost certain that Minerva had looked fondly at her former student.

That was it then. They were all going to fawn over Longbottom and forget that Draco existed. They'd never really liked him anyway. He took a large drink of his beverage and wished it was something stronger than pumpkin juice.

As the sorting ceremony ended, McGonagall stood up to make the usual start of term announcements regarding staffing, rule changes, and a commitment to inter-house unity. Draco tried to keep his expression carefully neutral.

* * *

Two weeks into term, Longbottom approached him in the corridor. Draco could only assume it had been on purpose—Longbottom had no reason to be in his dungeons.

"Malfoy, we can't keep avoiding each other forever. We _are_ working together now."

Draco tried to speed up his walk as if he hadn't heard him, but Longbottom's legs had gotten considerably longer in his last couple years of Hogwarts, and now that he'd grown into his feet, he was less inclined to trip over them.

"I'm pretty certain I could outrun you," he said, entirely too cheerful. "But it might look a little unseemly if I had to tackle you in the hall just to have a conversation. That would get the students talking, wouldn't it?"

The blonde rounded on him, stopping so suddenly that they nearly collided. "What do you want?"

The former Gryffindor eyed him levelly. "To talk. We can do it in my office or yours, I don't mind."

He weighed his options. He didn't particularly want Longbottom in his office. It was his sanctuary to hide away from everything when he needed to, and what he most wanted to hide from right now was Longbottom. However, walking all the way to the Defense office would be a longer walk and he wanted to be rid of his company as soon as possible. Besides, the potions office couldn't hold good memories for the other man—maybe it would end the conversation that much sooner. "Mine. This way." Draco led the way to his office, the former Gryffindor perfectly in step beside him. As they entered, he shut the door with a flick of his wand. "Now, what did you want?" His voice was icy.

Neville was undaunted. "I wanted to have a conversation with you. We've been avoiding each other since I started here and the castle is big, but it's not that big. We're going to have to talk sometime, might as well be now."

Draco drawled. "I can't imagine you have anything to say to me that I'd want to hear. Or vice versa." He'd tormented this man as a boy for years. They fought on separate sides of a war. Even if the older professors had decided to let bygones be bygones and chalk his involvement up to being too young to know better…he rather imagined Longbottom knew him well enough to know that he was that malicious. That he'd been a terrible human being long before anyone pressured him to put a skull on his arm. Distance was better. They could maintain distance. He would _not_ be driven out of Hogwarts. He had nowhere else to go.

Taking a deep breath, Neville squared his shoulders. "Well, you may not want to hear it, but I want to say it, and I'm going to. We're not eleven years old anymore, Malfoy. We're adults, and we're both here to do a job for the students, yeah? I can't forget what we've been through. But I'm willing to start over. We don't have to be friends. But we're colleagues."

Draco stared at him but tried to turn his slightly wide eyed look into a sneer. "Just like that?" Surely there had to be more to it than that. An ulterior motive. A plan to come at him when his guard was down.

Neville looked at the other man bluffly. "Look, I'm not going to take any crap from you. But I'm not going to give you any crap either. I'm here to move forward." He stuck out his hand and waited.

Another handshake passed through Draco's mind. His offer of friendship to Potter over a decade ago. He'd been scorned and rejected and it had bruised his eleven year old pride and set the tone for the next seven years between them. He considered questioning Longbottom, seeing if he could get him to admit to another motive…to…something. He wouldn't have forgiven him if the shoe was on the other foot. But the man's face was guileless. And even if Longbottom had been up to something…he probably wasn't quite stupid enough to admit it. He clasped the other man's hand briefly and nodded. "Forward then." Damn Longbottom for being the bigger man. Stupid Gryffindor.

The dark haired man shifted a little uncomfortably on his feet and cracked an awkward grin. "I guess that's it then. I was going to head to dinner. Do you want to go?"

"We may as well." The corner of his mouth twitched up.

"What?"

"Minerva. I imagine she's not going to believe her eyes when we walk in together."

Neville chuckled in agreement, and the pair of them left the potions office in the direction of the Great Hall. They weren't friends, but Draco knew he could work with the man, and he was almost starting to believe that he hadn't come there to put a target on his back.

He was wrong about Minerva though. There was no look of surprise on her face when they walked into the Great Hall, or if it was there, it only lasted a heartbeat. Instead, there was a hint of a smug smile at the corner of her mouth, only noticeable by those who knew her well.


	11. Christmas Cheer--Year Three

**Author's Note: **This one got a bit long, but hopefully no one minds too much?

* * *

**Christmas Cheer—Year Three**

* * *

The students were all running around looking for last minute shoes and books that had gone missing as they packed up for the winter holidays. Maybe he was finally becoming accustomed to it, but the fall term hadn't seemed too bad. Only one of his first years had been homesick at the start of term. Only one particularly high strung fifth year had had a panic attack as her exams approached. And—as a particular point of pride—all of the students who had taken extra flying lessons with him the previous spring had made their respective house teams during the fall term. A couple of the latest batch of first years had expressed an interest in more of the same after hearing tales from the second years, but Draco told them to wait for spring and ask again.

Cassidy and Carolyn's extra study sessions were continuing. Draco wasn't sure that Cassidy really needed the extra sessions any longer, but the boy thought he did, and he was starting to pick up on some advanced work. It wasn't a huge drain on Draco's time or resources to keep doing it for him. He even had him making some of the hospital wing's potions—on a purely volunteer basis of course.

As all the students (and a few teachers) made their way to the doors to catch the carriages and train home for the holidays, Draco was surprised to see Longbottom sitting on the stairs. "Not going home for the holidays?" he asked, brow arched. He was fairly certain the other man had some sort of terrifying grandmother at home. Maybe that's why he wasn't going.

The words came out of Neville's mouth slowly and with great reluctance. He wasn't looking at Draco. "I'll go…go see my mum and dad on Christmas Day for a few hours, but there isn't anyone else to go home to." Both of his hands were in his pockets and he stared carefully at the wall. "My Gran passed on this summer. It wasn't exactly unexpected. She'd live a good long life, they say. But the house is too big to rattle around in on my own. I thought I'd stay here. Try to make Christmas a little brighter for the students that aren't going home. I was going to go to Hogsmeade and maybe pick up some candy from Honeydukes. There's only a handful from my house staying." The unasked invitation hung in the air.

"Would you mind some company?" The words came out of Draco partly as social convention, partly because the other man looked so in need of company.

"Not at all. How many from your house are staying?"

"Four." They detoured to the dungeons so Draco could get his cloak, scarf, and moneybag and then started off on the walk to Hogsmeade. They could have taken one of the carriages, but walking gave them a little distance from the students. By the time they had walked to the village, the students would have finished their carriage rides and boarded the train, which suited them both fine.

They were mostly quiet on the walk, moving carefully over the snowy track. As they entered Honeydukes, they stomped the snow off of their boots and looked around.

"I don't know the last time I was here," Neville admitted. "Before the war I think. It's good to see it reopened."

Draco nodded. Aside from a handful of trips to Hogsmeade—usually at Pomona's cajoling insistence—he hadn't really been back in the village since he'd been a student. When he'd first come back, he hadn't wanted to see anyone in the wizarding world who might recognize him for who he was. He ordered supplies by owl. And since then, he'd mostly continued to do the same out of habit.

They spent a little while picking out Sugar Quills, Licorice Wands, Chocolate Frogs, and a handful of other treats for the students who would be staying. As they stepped out of the store and into the bitter cold again, they both looked at the Three Broomsticks. It seemed like a better option than trekking back right at that moment.

However, Neville got sidetracked as they passed a shop window with Christmas stockings, and they both went in, coming out with enough stockings to put candy in for each of their students that was staying for the holidays. At last, they made it to the Three Broomsticks and ordered a couple of warm drinks.

Rosmerta smiled at Neville and Draco, her eyes lingering on Neville just a moment. "Welcome, Professors, good to have you in. I'll have your drinks right out."

With their shopping bags sitting on an empty chair, they peeled off their scarves and cloaks. Neville's eyed the handmade scarf for a second longer than necessary, but he didn't comment.

Draco found himself explaining it anyway. "It was a gift from one of my students the first year I was teaching. She made it herself. I figure I have to keep wearing the thing until she graduates."

Neville nodded and sipped his mulled cider. "Very thoughtful. Do you know why your students are staying?"

"At least one is a Muggle-born. Her family is willing to send her to Hogwarts, but they're not comfortable with the idea of magic. I'm not sure about the other three. Yours?"

"There's at least one war orphan, maybe two. I have to check my list," he admitted. "I suppose whatever they have at home has got to be pretty bad if Christmas in an empty castle is the better option."

Draco looked at the other man and couldn't decide if there was an implied question there, an invitation to talk if desired, or if he was just making a comment. He took another long sip of his cider. "I haven't gone home since I started teaching here. The Manor is just…I can't un-see the things that happen there. It's not my home anymore. My parents don't understand that. My mother writes to me sometimes, but I don't usually respond."

"That's stupid," Neville said automatically. "Not about the Manor—I've heard stories. I don't think I'd want to go back either if it was me. There's reason Harry hasn't been back to Hogwarts since the end of the war, though McGonagall has tried to get him to come back. Hell, I ran away from an empty house where nothing more terrible has happened than to have my Uncle dangle me out the window by my feet—long story—because I couldn't handle the emptiness. But Malfoy, you have your parents, and they want to see you. How can you not see them? I'd give anything for my parents to want to see me. To know who I was." He turned his head aside so Draco couldn't see his face, but he heard the way he seemed to choke on the words.

"The choices they made put me through hell. We had a terrorist living in our house," he said, through gritted teeth. "How do you move on from that?"

"Because holding onto it will kill you. Slowly and surely, but you're going to die on the inside. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?" There was no response from the blond, so he tried another tact. "Malfoy, you'd say you and I have plenty of reasons to dislike one another, right?"

Draco nodded. He didn't quite trust his voice. He rather thought Longbottom had more reasons to dislike him than he had to dislike Longbottom.

"I didn't know you were teaching her when McGonagall signed me on. Once I knew, I knew I could either walk around like the mouse I was when you used to bully me. Or I could be a bully myself and try to make life hard for you now that I could. Or I could let it go. I let it go. And I felt better. I don't know everything that's gone on with you and your parents, and you don't have to tell me, but…there are students at that castle right now who don't have any parents to go home to. You have yours, for however much longer you'll have them. You never know how these things will go. If it was me, an awkward letter or a difficult Christmas Eve sounds better than decades of wishing you had made up with them. But that's just me."

The blond sat stiffly on his seat. "I"ll think about it." They didn't talk much as they finished their drinks. Nothing Longbottom had said was untrue. It was just hard to hear. Habit could become as powerful as fear or resentment. He'd avoided going home for so long, it didn't feel like an option anymore. But his mother still wrote to him, even though he didn't write back. By silent agreement, they gathered their bags as they finished their drinks and started heading back to the castle. The plan had been to put candy in all the stockings and have the house-elves set them out by the tree on Christmas Eve. Maybe they could get the elves to put names on them.

* * *

So few students were staying that Draco and Neville suggested to Minerva that they might have the Christmas Eve feast in one of the classrooms instead of the Great Hall. It couldn't do much for student morale to see all the empty seats and be reminded that they were amongst the few who didn't want to go home.

Minerva had nodded and smiled and said she would start on the arrangements.

* * *

After the Christmas Eve feast was ended, Draco sat down and wrote a letter, sending it before he could second guess himself. He'd been dithering over it for two weeks now nearly.

_Mother,_

_ What time is Christmas dinner tomorrow evening? I'll be sure to bring a bottle of Father's favorite wine._

_Draco_

* * *

**Author's Note 2:** Writing this chapter is what inspired the _**Christmas Stockings**_ 1-shot I posted yesterday. Doing my best to keep everyone in character and give them all room to grow. I'm still out of town at the moment, but have transitioned from vacation last week to a rigorous round of business meetings all this week, so I should be going back to my normal posting rate of once or twice a week. Sorry if anyone's inbox was a little overwhelmed this week. The wifi in the hotel seems good, so I should be able to post the Law and Marriage epilogue tomorrow, and I'm hoping to have Ginny's chapter of Exhausted polished up later this week. Thank you for all your support! Seriously, all the encouraging reviews really help keep me going.


	12. Spring--Year Three

**Author's Note:** Updates on this story will probably continue to be sporadic. I feel like since each chapter has a large gap between it time wise in the story, hopefully you're not being left in much suspense. I love the idea of Draco hiding away at Hogwarts after the war, coming to terms with his involvement in it, and his evolving sense of self, so I'm still working on it. However, I also do very much want to get my longer story, Mugglefied, completed. In all cases, chapters get updated as inspiration hits. This chapter is a bit longer than is normal for this story. Next chapter should be up in a few days. I just finished writing it and just want to give it another read through.

* * *

**Spring—Year Three**

* * *

Draco's hours outside the classroom slowly seemed to be filing up. He'd acquiesced to the chattering first years who wanted flying lessons, but had told them that there was no guarantee that the extra lessons would get them on the house team the following year. That was up to the team captains to decide, and there was a lot more to being a good Quidditch player than being able to fly—there was sportsmanship, an understanding of the rules, and a whole lot of other crap.

One of the students had responded that he didn't really want to be on the house team, but wanted to open a flying delivery service. His classmates had laughed.

Cassidy was already worried about his NEWTs, which were still several months off, though Draco had no doubt he'd pass them without flinching.

He continued to brew and bottle up Wolfsbane potion to send more or less anonymously to Granger, though he rebuffed all her requests to have him teach her the potion. He told himself it gave him something to fill up the hours.

While Neville and Draco weren't exactly chummy, there was something…reassuring about the other man's presence. Draco tried not to dwell on it too much. He had plenty to keep him busy with his classes and head duties and all that, but if he and Neville Longbottom could have civil conversations anything was possible. They found themselves in agreement more often than not at staff meetings, and Draco found he'd grown to be able to read looks on Neville's face that he doubted Minerva caught.

One repeated topic of conversation at the staff meetings was the necessity of finding a qualified Muggle Studies professor and someone to take on the transfiguration professorship full-time. Unfortunately, none of the people who were suggested had any interest in taking on the roles.

* * *

Neville knocked on Draco's office door. "Can I come in?"

"You're already halfway in, might as well come in the rest of the way. I'm just finishing this." He stirred his wand over the steaming brew in his cauldron with a grimace. It wasn't exactly a bowl of roses.

"I got a letter from Hermione earlier. I noticed at breakfast you had one too."

"You recognized her handwriting across the table?" Draco asked, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Well, we did used to study together. And her notes were always more legible than mine. Anyway, she Owled to ask if I could help her put in a garden this summer at the lycanthrope house. She finally got conditional funding from the Ministry—if she can show that it will need 'minimal external resources'. She wants to start growing as many of the plants she needs for healing potions and Wolfsbane potions on-site. I was hoping we could go over a list of what she might need, and then I can figure out how much of it will grow well locally."

Draco suppressed the wry smile. "This is Wolfsbane potion for her. I've got the ingredients list memorized at this point. I can get you a copy."

Neville nodded. "That would be great. I'm surprised she doesn't make it herself. She was always pretty good at potions."

The blonde turned his back on his colleague, going to the shelves to find a piece of parchment with the ingredients on it for him, and keep him from seeing his face. If he could read Neville's face, there was no knowing how well he could read his. "Something like this is extremely dangerous if brewed incorrectly. She's a smart enough witch to know that. Something at this level you're better off learning from a witch or wizard instead of out of a book. Few people can brew it. My godfather taught me." He kept his voice neutral.

The taller wizard looked at the cauldron while keeping a careful distance from it. He didn't want to accidentally drop in an eyelash or anything else that might ruin it. "McGonagall had mentioned that most of the professors do some sort of summer project or research. I think I'm going to take on Hermione's garden for mine. I bet she'd be happy to have you teach her to brew Wolfsbane, and anything else that might be useful."

"If she knew I was the one making this potion, I doubt she'd even accept it from me. She'd probably assume I poisoned it on purpose. It's not like she needs large batches. I can spare the time to send her some every couple of months." His voice was dryer than autumn leaves. He didn't risk turning around and looking at his colleague until he was done speaking.

The former Gryffindor's mouth hung slightly open for a long moment, eyes just a little too wide. And then he did the unforgivable. He laughed. He laughed at Draco Malfoy.

Draco bristled, and it took all of his strength of will not to reach for his wand. He had nowhere else to go. He could not duel his coworker in his office. "What is so funny?" he asked, his voice icy.

"Do you really think she doesn't know you're brewing the potion? McGonagall's been working with her on revising the Muggle Studies curriculum. Mostly they do it by owl I think, but McGonagall mentioned once having Hermione over for tea. I'm sure she knows it's you. It's been nearly four years since the Battle." He shook his head, and did an abysmal job at trying to keep his face neutral—there was pity on it, and heartache. "If you think she's the sort of person who would hold who someone used to be as more important over what they want to do now to help people…you don't know her at all. She doesn't hold grudges. And I'm sorry you don't know her. She's pretty amazing." He started to shake his head again and stopped. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. Thank you for the ingredient list. I'll start looking and seeing which of these will grow well in this climate, and what she'll need to import. But I hope you'll teach her. I think you'd learn a lot from the experience."

Draco stood stock still as the other man left his office. Granger knew she was writing to him and she still kept writing? Still kept asking for help? He tried to imagine being in her position and asking for help from someone who'd treated them terribly for years. Who stood on the losing side of the line in war. Damn Gryffindor.

* * *

Patrolling the hallway one evening, Draco found his Muggle-born second year crying behind a tapestry of Rhohilda the Wrathful.

He noticed her long before he reached the tapestry and contemplated just walking on by since she seemed to want to be alone, but somehow, he rather suspected she needed someone to talk to. As he veered course to approach the tapestry rather than bypass it, he heard the sobbing stop, as though the student were trying to hold their breath so he wouldn't hear them and walk on by. He could tell that she had tried to be as unnoticeable as possible, but it's hard to be unnoticeable when you're crying and your shoes are sticking out passed the edge of the tapestry. He approached the tapestry slowly, pulling it aside and crouching beside her.

"Interesting pick for a place to spend Friday night, Melina. Wouldn't be my first choice."

"I'm sorry, P-Professor Malfoy. I was t-trying to calm down before going back to the c-c-common room. So the others wouldn't see." Tear marks streaked her face, and even in the dark, Draco could see that her face was red. She looked a far cry from the girl who'd been bold enough to follow her professor out into a storm while he practiced flying.

Even with a couple of years practice with homesick first years, calming crying students was not his forte. He decided to try humor. "Sitting by yourself and crying isn't the answer. Don't you know you could get attacked by a troll?"

She frowned. "You're making fun of me, just like the rest of them!"

Draco was bewildered. But at least it was a start. Someone had been teasing her. Probably a group of someones. "I'm not teasing. It happened to a witch in my year at Hogwarts. She was crying on Halloween and locked herself in the girls' toilet, so she missed the warning about a troll being on the loose, and if her harebrained friends hadn't come along, the troll would have pulverized her."

"There was a troll? Actually here at Hogwarts?"

The professor realized that maybe this story was not as reassuring as it could have been. "It was a long time ago. When I was a first year. There are no trolls at Hogwarts now."

The twelve year old seemed to accept this answer, though she had to know Professor Malfoy couldn't really be that old. He wasn't old like Headmistress McGonagall was _old_. "I don't have any friends to save me from a troll, even if there was one. I think I do…and then something comes up and I don't know it and they all act like I should know. How can I know if no one tells me?" she sounded seriously aggrieved.

"You're doing well in my class. And you made the house team this year," Draco said, trying to pinpoint where her problem was. He thought she'd adjusted into Slytherin very well, all things considered.

"Professor, they've all known about Hogwarts and magic and being witches for their whole lives. I only got my letter a few months before term started. I didn't know why I could do the things I could do. I half-thought I was imagining them. When it did happen in front of other people, it scared them. And then I got my letter. And I thought there'd be people like me and it'd be wonderful. But they know who Puddlemere is, and about Flooing, and Apparation, and none of them has ever watched television or been online. And they act like I should be able to Floo to visit them summer when I've never even heard of Floo powder 'til today. And if even if I had…my parents wouldn't let me set that up in the house, even if we did have a fireplace, which we don't." She took a deep, ragged breath. Her breathing was still shallow, but she wasn't crying anymore.

Draco sat stunned, patting her awkwardly on the back. Why wasn't anyone teaching the Muggle-borns about all the non-classroom aspects of the magical world? _Someone _ought to be doing that. How were they supposed to keep another war from brewing with another maniac at the head of it if they couldn't keep peace between twelve year olds? He'd bring this up with Minerva. Tomorrow. For the moment, he pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He found himself promising to make sure the situation got addressed; she begged him not to tell her classmates that he'd found her crying. It would only make things worse.

Having spent plenty of years taunting crying classmates himself…he knew she was right.


	13. Summer Lessons--Year Three

**Author's Note:** I really like this story. A lot. It's hard to resist writing big long scenes. I swear I'm trying to keep it short in the tone with this story. If I did it fully fleshed out like my novel stories…well, it'd take an age to get anywhere. This is meant to be a long-term Draco story, coming to terms with himself and life after the war. I appreciate all the positive feedback. It really warms my heart that something that felt like such a little, I shaped idea has gotten so much support. And, I'm spending most of the day at airports, so getting off the plane and seeing reviews would be very exciting.

* * *

**Summer—Year Three**

* * *

_It could be worse_, Draco reminded himself. He could be slogging through trees with a heavy pack on his back, dealing with viciously biting insects. Lovegood had attempted to wrangle him into a second expedition. He declined, on the grounds that his summer was already quite busy with several other projects.

Still, as he stood in front of his fireplace with his trunk, he couldn't help but feel a little trepidation. One month of teaching one capable student. That wasn't so bad, was it? All things considered?

It wasn't as if he wasn't getting something in return, though part of him was still surprised that he'd allowed himself to be roped into that task as well.

Well, he'd signed his name to the letter before last. She knew who she was expecting and she hadn't withdrawn the invitation. He tossed a handful of green powder in the fireplace and called out the name of his destination clearly.

* * *

Granger was, if nothing else, a capable student. As irritating as he'd found her as a classmate, Draco struggled to see why his godfather had disliked her as a pupil. She listened to the instructions and seemed to get them the first time. The only annoying thing was that she asked a great deal of questions, but even that was to her credit—they were intelligent questions and relevant to making sure she didn't bungle something with a modification that might make the process smoother.

She was forthright in all her dealings with him, never cold. She didn't bring up the war. They simply got on with their work. Draco could see Neville out the window of the laboratory, his back bent in the garden as he transplanted seedlings he'd brought in from his own nursery.

"If you're making a larger batch, it does affect the efficacy of this root. For a batch for four werewolves or more, you need to increase it by one and a half times the standard dose per person, because of the way it interacts with the aconite," he explained, turning aside from the window.

Granger made tidy notes in her neat handwriting.

Draco noticed that she wasn't using parchment or a quill. He debated it with himself for several days before broaching the subject with her. It was, after all, the secondary project he'd come to work on. "Are those Muggle writing implements?"

"Yes." She met his gaze evenly, not challenging, but not backing down if he was going to start something.

"Did you find it hard to adjust to parchment and quills?"

A slight smile graced her lips. "Do you want to know the truth?"

He arched an eyebrow. "That would be preferable, yes."

"I was excited when I went and picked up my supplies for the first time. Wizard gear is old fashioned in a lot of ways—parchment, quills, bottles of ink—Muggles stopped using those ages ago in favor of cheaper, easier to produce paper and pens. But even wizardly school supplies seemed exciting at first. As soon as I got home, I tore open the supplies to try to start writing. It was a good thing I did—it took me two weeks of practice as home to get comfortable writing with a quill on parchment. I would have been mortified to turn in an essay that looked like my first attempts that summer."

"Is it really so much easier?"

"It may just be a matter of upbringing as far as preference goes, but having used both, I think this is easier. Here." She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and pushed it towards him, handing him the pen. She had to correct the position on his fingers once, but he managed a legible version of his name, even if it wasn't quite as neat as he could manage with a quill.

"And you never have to dip this in ink?"

"It has it's own inkwell inside of it. When it eventually runs out, you throw it away and get a new one. It's a little wasteful in terms of natural resources, but it's cheap, efficient, and a time-saver, not having to dip a quill in a bottle of ink ever few lines, or wait for it to dry." She shrugged, brushing her hair back out of her face.

He admitted, "I see the benefits."

* * *

The four weeks passed more quickly than Draco would have expected. There were two lycanthropes living in the house Granger had created, though she hoped more would come. As there were plenty of spare rooms for the time being, Draco and Neville lived there while working on the potions lab and the garden. When Potter or the Weasel came by to see Granger, Draco did his best to make himself scarce. Not that he was afraid or hiding from them. He was a Malfoy. He just had better things to do than to chat up the pair of them—like brewing an extra Pepper Up potion, or sorting his socks.

But he felt it best not to test whether Weasel and Potter were as willing to set the past aside as Granger and Longbottom. He came out of his room shortly after they left one evening.

"They aren't going to hex you, you know. Harry did argue to keep your family out of Azkaban," Granger said, conversationally. "This project has Harry's full support. And Ron's for the most part."

"And should I be running out and thanking him?"

"No. What's done is done." She sounded mildly irritated. They hadn't broached this topic before. "I'm just saying, you have as much a right to be here as they do. I appreciate what you're doing. I know you didn't have to take the time out to come here this summer, but I'm glad you did."

He wasn't sure what to say to that.

Granger sighed. She could see the conversation wasn't anywhere. "I got a list from Harry to go along with the things you and I were discussing about Melina's situation. I figured since he was less widely read than I was, he'd have an even longer list of things that came as a surprise to him." She pulled out a sheet of parchment and slid it over to Draco.

He skimmed it: Knight Bus, Azkaban, Floo, phoenix, _Daily Prophet_, Gringotts, house-elves, the Ministry…just to name a few. The list also included information about how he'd come to find out some of these things existed. He'd accidentally summoned the Knight Bus, mistakenly gone to Knockturn Alley on his first Floo experience, thought he'd killed Dumbledore's bird... "He wasn't prepared for anything, was he?" he said, absently.

"Not really. Imagine if the only thing you knew about Hogwarts, witchcraft, or wizardry was what was in the Hogwarts letter all the eleven year olds get. There'd be new surprises every year. And the longer you were in the wizarding world, the less likely people would realize you had cultural blindspots and still assume you knew things. I still get surprised sometimes." She looked almost rueful. "I have almost no magical cooking skills, because for the most part, that's the sort of thing that's learned at home, rather than at school. I can cook the Muggle way fine, but I'm having to have Mrs. Weasley go back and teach me magical cooking when I've got time."

Draco was a bit stunned to hear Granger admitting to _not _knowing something, but then again, that was precisely what his new class was going to be about. He still didn't think he was the right person to teach it, but no one else had volunteered.

"Anyway, I know you'll be pretty wrapped up with working on this for the next few weeks until term starts. I really appreciate the time you've spent helping here this summer. And at least it'll be one less thing you have to next year—not making wolfsbane potion anymore. If you need any help with the syllabus, or have any questions, just Owl me or pop over. I'm nearly always here."

"Don't you take any time off?"

She laughed. "I haven't taken a holiday in a long time. I promised myself I'd do this for Remus. And it's not just getting the organization off the ground. I'm trying to get wizarding law changed…which necessitates studying hundreds of years of wizarding law to see exactly what is and isn't protected, and why."

"You'll burn out."

She raised an eyebrow, a mimic of his frequent gesture. "You're one to talk. You took on extra years of making Wolfsbane potion for me rather than coming out here to teach it to me."

He folded the parchment on the table and busied himself tucking it in his pocket. "I wasn't sure you'd learn if I was teaching it." It was the first time he'd voiced the thought since Neville had laughed at him.

"Malfoy…" She shook her head. "You made mistakes. Some big mistakes. They can't be undone. But I have tried to imagine what it had to be like for you. Terrified out of your wits, Voldemort living in your house. Cut off from friends, or anyone who might have had a chance of talking some sense into you." She sighed. "Things can't be undone, but we can always try to do better today. I'm trying to do better. I think you are too."

He didn't have a response for that. Was he as transparent as all that?

Neville ducked his head in the window of the laboratory. There was a smear of dirt on his cheek, and a grin. He was always happiest when he was elbows deep in the soil. "Sun has about gone down. I think I'm through for the day. You two want to go into town for a drink?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea."

Draco agreed. Anything seemed like a much better idea than sitting at the table talking. Neville had been right about Granger.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just a reminder, I promised this isn't a Dramione story and I still hold by that. This is Draco's story, and if he gets a romantic interest, it won't be Hermione this time. If you want to read about Dramione, check out Law and Marriage (complete) or Mugglefied (WIP). Dozens of chapters of Dramione fun.


	14. Falling Forward--Year Four

**Author's Note:** Hi, guys! Today is my one year wedding anniversary! I edited another other chapters I wrote last week, so here you go, another chapter. Enjoy. Trying to keep the scenes/chapters short, but there's definitely more dialogs/interactions this point than Draco just brooding, so chapters are probably going to continue like this for a bit, seeing Draco interact with other characters. I promise to try and get another chapter of Mugglefied up soon, but I wrote 8000 words of The Professor while on vacation last week, and I'm trying to get those edited and up sooner rather than later.

Also...I got at least 2 plot ideas this week about Seamus Finnegan. Anybody like Seamus?

* * *

**Falling Forward—Year Four**

* * *

Draco did his best not to fidget during the Minerva's announcements. To look like an unruffled professor just waiting for term to begin properly. He had eleven first years in his house. He found he couldn't help counting every year.

After the normal introductions and warnings about staying out of the Forbidden Forest and away from any Weasleys Wizard Wheezes products, Minerva announced something new. "This year, we are pleased to offer an optional course, two days a week, on the structure of wizarding world. Any student of any year is welcome to attend. The course will be covering things such as methods of transportation, the government, popular sports and music, etc. The first lesson will be Wednesday at 4 o'clock, in the potions would like to have an idea of how many students might be interested in attending, in case we need a larger space, so please sign up on the sheet which will be available outside the classroom tomorrow."

There was some scattered applause, mostly because students felt they were supposed to applaud after an announcement was made. Still, he thought he saw a smug smile tugging at the corner of a third year Slytherin's lips. And that was absolutely worth something to Draco.

There were maybe a dozen students in the classroom. It was more than had signed up beforehand. Only five had braved putting their names on the sheet to say they wanted to learn more about the magical world. He didn't exactly have a lesson plan for this first day. There were a couple of seventh years present. Several first years. Melina. And the rest were mostly second years. He cleared his throat.

"I'm Professor Malfoy. You learn a lot of things during your seven years at Hogwarts—how to tell Devil's Snare from Snakeroot, and how to summon lost items, or transfigure a mouse into a tea cozy. But there are a lot of things that you're not actively taught—things that people pick up in their day to day lives. That might be harder for some people than others." Salazar, he already felt like he was bungling it. "For example, does anyone know how you get to the Ministry of Magic?" There was no immediate response, and he added conciliatory. "Most people don't."

One of the students, a fourth year, raised his hand, looking unsure of himself. "Do they Floo? Reggie showed me the Floo network this summer."

"Some people Floo into the Ministry," Draco acknowledged. "The visitor entrance is an old telephone booth. And some of the employees flush themselves in through a series of magical toilets." He half expected laughter, but there was only silence.

Finally, one of the seventh years, Doreen Johnson, said, "You're not serious are you?"

"Dead serious." He paused, and this time there was a little laughing. "It wouldn't be my favorite way to travel, but not everyone wants to be connected to the Floo network—security concerns and all that. It's the same reason we don't allow Apparation here at Hogwarts—if anyone can get in and out, it's not secure. And this school is here to keep everyone safe as much as it is to teach everyone." His mouth went dry. He hadn't kept the school safe. He'd let the monsters in. He turned away from the students to try to compose himself, writing on the board, taking several deep breaths. These students. He would protect _these_ students as he hadn't protected his classmates. He wrote the word "Topics" under the board and drew a line under it, turning back to his pupils. There were still days when the old feelings snuck up on him. "One of the first things that we're going to cover is methods of transportation—the Knight Bus, the Floo Network, Portkeys. But I also want to know what you want to learn. What would be the most helpful to you."

"What about the horseless carriages that brought us here?" asked a second year, not bothering to raise his hand.

One of the seventh years stiffened and looked at the younger student. "They're not _horseless_." There was a pause. "You can't see them?"

Draco pressed his lips together. This was going to be a long course.

* * *

The giant squid squid drifted across the surface of the lake. After repeatedly approaching him about the topic, Rolanda had finally talked Draco into refereeing a Quidditch match, assuring him that no one was going to declare him an impartial judge.

The first match he was going to referee was Saturday. Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw.

He hadn't flown in front of anyone but first years in a long time. Still, a crowd tended to bring out his skills. He'd manage. He tempted himself with the thought of a quick flight later after dinner tonight. So what if his own professors hadn't flown in the evenings? Maybe he was a new sort of professor.

* * *

A letter from Granger announced that her first batch of Wolfsbane potion on her own had been a success. Draco smiled and wondered at a little bitterness in his stomach. She didn't need him anymore. But she didn't need him because he'd done his job and helped her. That ought to be some salve to his conscience.

Shouldn't it?

Most days it seemed as though he'd never manage to balance the scales.

* * *

Neville and Draco were amongst the last to leave the room after the staff meeting. The weather had turned, and Draco was on the verge of needing to break out his lumpy blue scarf again. The former Gryffindor had joined in for some of the sessions on Draco's extra class, wanting to know what his students didn't know so that he might help them better. Typical Gryffindor.

Then again, Neville had said Draco was being a typical Slytherin—making sure to get his students an advantage in the wizarding world by teaching them things that weren't part of the curriculum. It was light banter, but they both new it wasn't exactly true. Trying to even the playing field didn't qualify as giving anyone an advantage. It was just like taking a snooker table that had been put up on blocks on one end and setting it back down on level floor.

"I was thinking about something, and I wanted to get your opinion," Neville said.

Draco knew that tone of voice. It was going to mean more work, because whatever it was was probably a good idea, but too much effort for someone else have implemented already. Leave it to the Gryffindor to find more for him to do. "What now?"

Neville grinned sheepishly. "Well, I was thinking that your extra class is a great step for getting Muggle-born witches and wizards better acquainted with the wizarding world. It's doubled in size since your first day, hasn't it? But what about the other way around? What about giving other students a taste of Muggle life?"

"Shouldn't you be addressing Meredith about this?" They were still using the staff member loaned to them by the Ministry, but the woman was only around morning and afternoon—regular office hours so to speak. She wasn't involved in after hours clubs or programs, and didn't live at the castle. She taught well enough from the revised curriculum Minerva had supplied (with Granger's help) but without passion.

"You know she's never really around. The students need this."

Draco sighed. It was _exactly_ what they needed. The revised curriculum helped. Muggle Studies was being taught as a mandatory first year class now, and not just an elective for the third years on up. He looked at the other man. He'd better be willing to help and not thrust all this on him. "What did you have in mind?"

Neville's grin was back as he began to explain—not that he had a particularly clear idea at this point.


	15. Winter Wondering--Year Four

Author's Note: Eek. Gads. I meant to post this a week ago. Work has been crazy busy in ways I can't even describe, and I've been out of town on business the last 3 days…and…and…it all sounds like excuses. I'm in the middle of getting the next chapter edited and I'll have that posted in a couple days. Then hopefully I'll get some more of _**Mugglefied**_ posted. I really love the way this story is shaping up.

* * *

**Winter—Year Four**

* * *

Draco peeled off the calfskin gloves his mother had sent him for his birthday and unwound the lumpy blue scarf from around his neck. The Three Broomsticks was fairly crowded with holiday shoppers nipping inside for a beverage and a chance to warm up. Neville brought their drinks to the table and shrugged out of his cloak. Their shopping bags were on the floor between them, laden with stockings and candy for the students who would be staying for the holiday. There weren't that many, and they'd decided to do Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in addition to Slytherin and Gryffindor. House unity and all that rubbish.

"I hope everyone remembers their permission slips."

"Not everyone needs a Remembrall to get a form signed. Any of them who really want to go will remember," Draco drawled, covering his nerves. He admitted his larger concern. "I think it's more likely that the parents won't grant permission."

"You think?"

Draco shrugged. He didn't know for certain. "My father wouldn't have signed anything authorizing the professors to take me to the Muggle world. _Anything_ could happen. Cars. Disease. Guns." He'd asked for (and received) a couple of Muggle newspapers from Granger and read about everything from car crashes to a robbery. Even on the things he wasn't totally clear about…it didn't sounds good.

"It's no more dangerous than the magical world."

"And our school got me mauled by a vicious beast." He paused. "But the real question is going to be known dangers versus unknown. They can send us into the Forbidden Forest for detention, but I rather suspect that possibly being hit by a car might be more than some of these parents are willing to tolerate." He sipped his drink and brooded. A start of term outing in the Muggle world had sounded like a reasonable goal when Neville had approached him weeks ago. And getting Minerva's permission had been shockingly easy. But now that the interested students had gone home with their permission slips, Draco's stomach was in knots.

The pair of young men sipped at their drinks, sitting in silence for a while. Time would tell.

* * *

Christmas Day dawned cloudy. The students who were staying at the castle for the holidays all had a stocking to open. They'd have gorged themselves by candy before breakfast probably.

Draco looked out over the grounds, not quite as well tended as they once were perhaps, but still elegant. Covered in snow, except for his mother's roses garden, kept blooming throughout the winter with a series of charms which were probably very expensive to set up, quite some time ago.

"Come to breakfast, Draco darling," his mother called.

He turned away from the window. He was probably never going to be at ease in this house again. He didn't understand how his parents could live here, day in and day out, as if nothing was wrong with it. As if wizards and witches and Muggles hadn't been tortured and killed and imprisoned here. He tried to force the thoughts away, to fight the bile rising in his throat. A person only got one mother and father…even if they made mistakes. Especially if they made mistakes.

He forced his lips into a smile and sat at the table to eat Christmas dinner and make small talk with his parents. Their lives were shadowed now—the glamor of their pre-war days of power and wealth gone. They weren't paupers by any means. But all moves had to be even more carefully considered now than they had ever been before. What they had they could not afford to lose. And they did have each other, which was more than many families had anymore.

So he sat at the table, and pretended that the sight of the new chandelier didn't horrify him, and told his parents about the classes he was teaching. He wasn't ready to bridge the topic of his upcoming field trip. Draco listened as his mother talked about the parties she'd attended, fewer than she would have once upon a day. His father…what did his father do anymore? In a world where a Malfoy wasn't on the board of governors, and couldn't influence the highest levels of the Ministry? Draco wasn't sure. But he met his eyes across the table, and for a little while, they pretended there were no chasms between them all.

One spot of surprise during the day was a photo of his mother with a little blue haired boy, sitting on one of the side tables. He didn't quite dare to ask about it when he saw the picture, and she didn't offer an explanation.

* * *

New Year's Eve, Draco caught several Slytherins in the process of sneaking out of the common room after curfew. And by "caught", that is to say, he watched them leave, hidden out of sight, and didn't stop them.

Word had reached his ears that there was a party in one of the empty classrooms tonight. All houses were invited, assuming you could keep a secret.

Draco turned the corner. There were other days when he might frown over something as arbitrary as a curfew and demand students get back to their beds. But with the old year dying and the new one starting…who was he to stifle friendship where others had found it?

He continued his patrol down a different corridor and eventually took himself back to the dungeons.


	16. Spring--Year Four

**Author's Note:** I have a minor story correction in this chapter. I previously said that Cassidy was on his NEWT level exams. When I went back and checked the original time I mentioned his age, I realized I was off by a year and he should have only been taking his OWLs when I said he was taking his NEWTs. I've fixed it in this chapter and I'll go back and correct the earlier one. I am very excited about this chapter.

* * *

**Spring—Year Four**

* * *

Winter seemed to cling onto the spring with claws of iron. The dungeons were chilly enough that Draco actually cast warming charms over his office and classroom once a day, sometimes twice if the first years had class—the young things thought themselves so fragile.

Minerva found him in the process of packing up some Pepper-Up potion for Poppy and gave him an approving nod. "With the weather as it is, I'm sure we'll have a worse than usual bout of spring fevers."

"My thoughts exactly," Draco offered, warily. It wasn't often anymore that Minerva sought him out in his office anymore. She seemed content with the job he was doing, and had demonstrated both tacit and verbal approval of the extra roles he'd taken on. "I might have to postpone the flying lessons for the first years." His spring term flying lessons for the first years had become an annual thing. While Rolanda was still teaching the initial bout of flying lessons—the basic mechanics and principles—in the fall, word always seemed to get around to the first years that if they wanted any chance of making their house-team the following year, they should do extra lessons with Professor Malfoy and learn about Quidditch. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I received some mail that I thought might be of interest to you, and wanted to be sure I passed it on." She handed him a stack of letters which had already been opened.

"I'll be sure to read and return these," he said stiffly.

She nodded again. "There are extra classrooms on some of the upper levels—third floor or fourth—if you wanted to move somewhere warmer. Perhaps get a little daylight." There was a dry humor in her voice.

"Haven't you heard the latest rumors? I'm a vampire. Can't abide the sun." He was pretty sure he knew which Hufflepuff had started that particular rumor and had already asked Neville whether that class had covered vampires yet. So far, he hadn't caught anyone trying to get his reflection in a mirror.

Her mouth twitched, just a little. "The students who take flying lessons with you or engage in your other extra courses seem to be fond of you. Students who only take potions class with you still seem to find you a bit alarming."

Draco snorted. "Potions is dangerous, and more than one of them has learned their lesson about cleaning up after themselves and paying attention in my laboratory." She gave him an approving gaze and after another moment or so of pleasantries, she left him to his work.

It was after dinner that evening before Draco got a chance to read the letters. They were from the parents of some of the students who had gone on the start of term field trip. It hadn't been a large group. Only six students between the two professors. They hadn't wanted to attract too much attention with a large crowd. Three of the parents had written. Two expressed their gratitude—one because now their son appreciated his magic more, and the other because she believed it was important to learn new things. The other letter voiced concern that her son had almost been hit by a car on the outing. It wasn't _that_ near a miss. He imagined the student had embellished.

The fourth letter was from a parent whose student had gone on the trip, but who felt that their son would benefit from an outing in the Muggle world—how quickly could one be arranged? They sent him back at the start of term with some Muggle money just in case something could be done.

Sighing, Draco took the hint. Minerva wanted him to continue leading the efforts for cultural exchange. He'd have to get with Neville and maybe Granger again and see what they could come up with. Maybe something slightly more educational than the trip to the movies they'd done for the first event.

* * *

Draco was flying over the Quidditch pitch when he noticed a lone figure crossing the grounds of Hogwarts with an exceptionally large pack on their back. He'd already sent the first years back to their dormitories, and he'd been fairly certain none of them had school bags resembling what he could make out.

The figure was heading towards the forest, wearing a rather lopsided cap.

He could either satisfy his curiosity, or stay continue his flight. He turned his broom towards the direction of the Forest. He hated the Forest, even after all these years. His curiosity got the better of him and he followed the figure from a distance. No sense in being seen until he knew what was going on.

He frowned, watching the figure approach Hagrid's hut. The light was on.

Hagrid came out and wrapped the figure in a hug, inviting them in.

Draco determined that he wouldn't learn anymore that evening and circled back towards the castle.

* * *

"Do you have a antidote that will work for acromantula venom?" asked the light, airy voice.

"Not offhand, though I could look for something if you think there's need," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. He made a mental note to at least check and see if it existed, regardless of what the answer was.

In her pale blue robes and and with her even paler hair, she looked out of place perched on one of the dark student desks. "No, I imagine I'll be fine. I do have a vial of mermaid's tears, which should help ward them away."

The potions master was nonplussed by her enthusiastic, can-do attitude. Lovegood had pitched a rather sturdy looking tent next to Hagrid's hut, and been living in the tent for several weeks. She seemed to have Minerva's approval for whatever she was doing, so long as she didn't allow any students to follow her into the woods.

Draco grimaced; even only visiting the castle occasionally, the witch's activities had caught the fancy of several of his more adventurous students who thought going into the forest would be _fun_ and he had had to warn them severely to stay out of the Forbidden Forest (for Salazar's sake, it was in the damn name), and give two of them detention. He hated giving out detention. It was more work for him, and he doubted most of the students were dissuaded by it. "Why do you think you might need an acromantula antivenom?"

Her legs swung carefree on the edge of the desk as if she were a small girl in a chair too large for her. "Well, I don't yet. I'm still in negotiations with the centaurs right now. They've been trying to decide what the stars have told them about me. I won't be allowed to penetrate deeper into the forest until they've made a determination. It's been centuries since anyone has been allowed in deep enough to do a proper survey of the creatures there."

"With good reason. It's dangerous," he said, pointedly. He poured tea and offered her a cup.

She laughed. "That's hardly a reason to stay away. That's all the more reason to look and see what there is to see. If fear has kept people away for so long, there's no way to know what might be living there. Hagrid has warned me about the things he knows about. And introducing me to his brother, who I may take as a guide if I can make him understand the importance of moving quietly." She took a contemplative sip of her tea.

Draco pursed his lips in what (if he could have seen a mirror) would have been a fair imitation of Minerva. "A giant. You want to take a giant as a guide through the forest? One who could squash you flat if he accidentally sat on you?"

"Only if I don't think he'll scare the other creatures away," she said demurely.

He had to wonder, if she didn't want the giant to keep dangerous creatures away, why would you travel with one? He dropped the subject for the moment and drank his tea, knowing he wasn't going to get a clearer answer from her. He added another mental note to find Hagrid and ask just what other sorts of antidotes Lovegood might need this summer. As if he didn't have enough work to do.

* * *

Draco put a little calming draught into the tea and handed the cup to Cassidy. "Drink this."

"I don't need…"

"You do. Your face is practically blue." He gave him a level look and the soon-to-be-seventh-year complied. His breathing slowed back down to a normal rate. "Now, calmly, tell me what the problem is."

Cassidy had passed his sixth year NEWTs with flying colors in potions just a few days before (as far as they could determine without actually having received the results yet. He sent a preemptive letter to St. Mungo's to see if it was possible to get an internship started this summer, even though he had another year of Hogwarts left. They turned him down.

"You're not even going to be of age for another few weeks, are you?" Draco pointed out.

"That's not the point. The point is, I really want to go into their advanced potions track, and they say I need to do more study or I can't go right into it after graduation next year." He was breathing deeply, trying to keep himself steady. "I visit my sister every holiday. But I never know how many more times I'll get to see her."

Draco crossed his arms over his nightshirt. "Cassidy, the best healers St. Mungo's has have been trying to help your sister for a long time."

"And they don't have the answers. I know. But I have to try. I know I might not make it. But I only have one sister. How could I live with myself if I didn't try?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to the Headmistress. If she is approves it, and if your parents do, we'll work something out. But any deal is contingent on you going home for a week and seeing her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." He looked as if a decade's worth of Christmas had come overnight.

"Now, go back to the your dormitory and go to sleep. Now."

The boy turned to go, looking terribly young for a moment.

Draco halted him at the door. "Cassidy, you've never told me, and I've never asked. But I'm asking now. What's killing your sister?"

"Lycanthropy, professor. She was bitten by Greyback. The transformations each month have broken her body so much. They keep trying…but nothing is working."

Draco felt as if a stone dropped into the pit of his stomach. "What about Wolfsbane potion? Surely that helps?"

"They're trying for a cure. Sir. You can't test a cure if you're muting the wolfish part with Wolfsbane anyway. But nothing is working." His voice sounded dead, hollow. "May I go to bed now?"

"Go to bed. Get some sleep." Draco lay awake at night himself that night and didn't sleep.


End file.
